


turned my back and you turned to dust

by revolutionnaire



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:05:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2423054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionnaire/pseuds/revolutionnaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Suzuka, Nico wants to say what he really means. And if not today, then never again, because Lewis is the one with a championship under his belt, but today Nico's the one realising the futility of their fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	turned my back and you turned to dust

__ _sweetheart, what have you done to us?_   
_ i turned my back and you turned to dust _   
\- [keaton heston](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MCNtWKdi5Ds)

 

 

 

 

1.

The world is a blur and Nico can't quite tell if it's from the shock or the tears welling up behind his eyes.

"Hey," comes a voice above him. "Are you okay?"

Nico looks up to see Lewis hovering over him, and he's not quite sure if he's surprised or not because it's the first real thing Lewis has said to him since everything went to hell between them.

Nico considers taking the easy way out, maybe just brushing it off with a simple _I'm fine_. But there is genuine concern in the face of his former friend, not a plastic façade thrown up for the rest of the world, not some rehearsed manufactured act to make him look good. So Nico tells him the truth.

"No," he says.

"I know," Lewis says, letting out a long harsh sigh. "I don't think anyone is."

"But you really look like hell, man," Lewis says, softer, when Nico remains silent, and Nico could take that anyway he wants, but he knows Lewis isn't trying to be rude. Of course Nico could snap or make a snide comment that'll leave them smarting and angry. But for a moment, it feels like they're back when everything was fine, when they could still joke and make each other laugh and smile. Nico leans back on the couch and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut over them and the pressure helps to choke his emotions back a bit.

"Yeah," Nico says, because he can't think of anything else. He's shaken. Nothing in his life has prepared him for this. "Worried about Jules."

"I feel awful too." Lewis sinks into the space next to him. He smells like locker-room shampoo and Nico turns to look at him. Lewis is fresh from the shower, his face raw and open and young again. Without the stupid sunglasses he hides behind, without the loud diamond piercings in his ear, the chains around his neck and whatever ridiculous way he chooses to style his hair, Lewis looks like the boy Nico remembers, the boy he grew up with.

He looks like his best friend again.

"Yeah," Nico repeats. He lets the silence spread between them. They've gone so long without talking, Nico had started to think that they'd forgotten how. It seems like something out of a dream or a past life, that there'd ever been a time when the words came to them so easily. It had been hard at first, wilfully biting back the things he would ordinarily have gone running to Lewis with, but then a tolerance began to build up and it had become easier and easier to swallow down the words meant for Lewis until they stopped coming to him at all.

He'd thought they'd be able to weather their way through this too. And if they did, then perhaps they really were ruined beyond repair, their friendship buried so deep and untouchable that even a tragedy like this wouldn't shake them.

But Lewis is here now and he isn't making any attempt to leave. He looks like he wants to talk.

"I won, but." Lewis' voice is tiny and unsure, almost child-like and vulnerable. "But it doesn't feel good at all. Nothing does."

Nico nods numbly. Yeah, he knows.

"For the first time, I just wanted to get off that podium. I just-- couldn't wait for it to be over.” Lewis shakes his head like he's trying to swat away a bad memory.

"Definitely the worst all year,” Nico agrees. "And you know there's been some pretty shit ones."

Lewis looks a little guilty, remembering their last few podiums. "They shouldn't have booed you," he concedes softly.

"Not that it matters now."

Lewis nods wordlessly, pauses for a beat before he puts a tentative hand, warm and friendly on Nico's knee and squeezes. He looks at Nico through tired, familiar eyes and god, this is the Lewis Nico remembers. This is the Lewis who laughed with him and called Nico his best friend; the bright smiling boy who made him secret handshakes and promises and said they'd be champions together one day. Not the thing on the top step of the podium that told the world they weren't friends.

Nico grew up with Lewis but he also grew up with racing in his blood and expectations weighing heavy on his shoulders. Nico was born knowing nothing else. He's not supposed to want anything less. Because a championship lasts for life, stays with you longer than any friend or lover. That's what Nico's been brought up to think, and years of racing have done nothing to quiet that voice in his head. But they were friends before-- surely that was worth something.

"What happened today-- it's making me think, you know. What have we been fighting for?" For once, Nico wants to say what he really means. And if not today, then never again, because Lewis is the one with a championship under his belt, but today Nico's the one realising the futility of their fight. Podium places and championship points, of glory and triumph and trophies-- how far away and insignificant they seemed now. “You said it yourself. You don't feel good."

"I don't," mumbles Lewis.

"I read something in a book once. About a boy-king." Nico continues. He takes a second to steady his breathing and recites it from memory, the words that have slithered their way all around his heart.

"You have a strong life-thread. Where it crosses other men's, it frays them."

"Makes me think of you," Nico says flatly.

Lewis bites his lip, hanging his head in what looks like shame, and Nico knows he's thinking about McLaren and Fernando, of Jenson, of all the team mates that started out as friends and left as much less; of all the sneers he's gotten across the paddock in recent years.

"I don't want that to happen with us," Nico says, and Lewis' head snaps up. "Not over something like this."

It's been so long since they were friends, and yeah, it's been so long and Nico had just started to believe that he could live without it. 

"I miss you."

"Miss you too, Nico."

 

 

 

 

 

2.

Three days later and there is a string of texts on Nico's phone from Lewis, the first in over half a year.

 

_**8:08 pm**  
i read something in a book that reminds me of you too. don't know if i should send it tho_

_**8:13 pm**  
oh what the hell i'm gonna send it_

_**8:14 pm**  
but don't fucking laugh ok, i read it in fifth form literature_

_**8:24 pm**  
the world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold._

**Author's Note:**

> \- the quotes come from _the king must die_ by mary renault, and _the picture of dorian gray_ by oscar wilde.  
>  \- i don't know why i'm writing this; i'm just so sad from suzuka :(


End file.
